


Souls

by Claire_Fucking_Dearing



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Clawen, Fluff, Jurassic World, Owen likes to braid, PTSD, life - Freeform, the boat ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:07:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire_Fucking_Dearing/pseuds/Claire_Fucking_Dearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boat ride back from Jurassic World after the incident. Fluff and PTSD and all that good stuff. </p><p> </p><p>||Sorry, I suck at summaries. Please read and review, cause I promise y'all won't regret it||</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Skulls" by Bastille. Enjoy!

_**When our lives are over / And all that’s remains / Is our skulls and bones / Let’s take it to the grave.** _

Claire feels numb.

She feels mechanic, unreal. She doesn’t feel when Owen gently leads her, Zach, and Grey onto the last ferry. She feels the blood, the hot, slick crimson dripping down her forehead and the constant thump of her heart tattooing her chest.

She doesn’t see when Owen sits down on the deck and tugs her onto his lap. She sees the teeth, the clamping jaws and the unruly roar of a genetically modified hybrid. Claire Dearing doesn’t feel human. _ **I can’t help but think of you / In these four walls my thought seem to wander / To some distant century / When all our friends are six feet under.**_

Zara. Her assistant, her friend.

Claire doesn’t remember Zara’s death; she lives it. And she relives it again and again, like a cassette on a never-ending replay.

“Owen..” Claire whimpered, anxiety kicking in. She trembled in Owen’s arms, shaking, a toddler holding a fragile doll by the arm.

“Hey, hey.. It’s okay, Red. It’s okay.” Owen ran a warm hand up and down her arm. “I got you.”

Claire’s whimpers turned into rasped tears, her body pale. “She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead…” Claire sobbed. Owen said nothing, silently combing through Claire’s tangled red hair, colored crimson and looking like fire from the blood and soot. He gently tugs out the knots and starts braiding, slowly and first but then faster, recalling the times he would braid his niece’s hair.

_“Owen!” she called, running to the him and the raptor cage._

_“Hey, Theo!” Owen gathered the toddler into his arms and held her. Theodora let her head droop onto her uncle’s shoulder. “_

_Wanna see my girls?” He asked her. Theo nodded enthusiastic. They went over to the raptors, and the little girl’s face lit up like lights on a Christmas tree._

_She’s gone and she’s never coming back,_ Owen reminded himself. _Just like Zara_.

_**When all our friends are dead and it’s just a memory / and we’re side by side / It’s always been just you and me / and all that’s remained.** _

She’s standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.

_Claire doesn’t hear the defying roar of the Indominus. She doesn’t hear the click, click, click of her stilettos slamming onto the pavement that will probably never see the crowd of excited people in the hot Central America again. Claire Dearing doesn’t even hear her breathing, a labored zig-zaggy pattern of exhaustion._

_She hears her heart, a heavy thump, thump, beating like a drum and echoing in her ears._

_**When our lives are over / And all that’s remains / Is our skulls and bones / Let’s take it to the grave / And I’ll hold in these hands / All that remains.** _

She left her job, a woman encased in business and the organization of an un-organized life.

He left his life, his girls left for the dead or roaming the freeloaded island. He left is sanctuary, his safe haven, a bungalow filled with memories and things and all of his old medals and medallions and even a purple heart.

They left their souls on the island, but they won’t admit. They gave their lives, their investment, their viability, their time. And they had to leave it all behind for- _for what?_ For an unpromising future of nightmares and traces of PTSD and disquietude. For an unclear subsequent of life and stages and stances and how to move on.

And they wonder.

_**When all our friends are dead and it’a just a memory / We’ll lie side by side, It’s always been just you and me / For all to see / with our skulls and bones, lets / Take it to the grave.** _

Maybe the Indominus was a blessing. Maybe life wasn’t leading them into misery and chaos. Maybe it was re-directing them to something better.

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? I know I kinda ventured off track partway through, and I apologize.


End file.
